The Earl and the Governess: An Erotic Romance (18 page)

She inwardly
laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation she was in. Now they
were both thinking about the same thing and having to pretend
otherwise and for what? Misplaced decorum? Decorum had never
occurred to them before. At least, it hadn't when they were fucking
each other against the folly wall.

Johnson was
smiling at her, a wicked gleam in his eye and she couldn't help
smiling back. He was so bloody pretty. Then, he took her smile as
an invite and eased himself up onto his elbow. Just as she had
imagined, his hand came up and his fingers ran along the edge of
the blanket that she held tight over her chest. “Let me see,” he
whispered and tugged so the blanket came down a little revealing
the swell of her breasts. Her arms relaxed beside her as she gave
in to the inevitable and he tugged further to reveal her hard
nipples, puckered from unbearable lust as much as the cold.

“Perfect,” he
murmured, trailing a finger over one hardened bud and then the
other. Under the blanket her legs opened of their own accord.

“Shall I suck
them?” he asked, his dark eyes gentle, his lips hovering over
her. 

“Yes,”
Charlotte whispered already so aroused that she was perfectly happy
for him to do anything he wanted, absolutely anything.

He groaned as
he sucked her into his mouth and she caressed his hair and tried
not to writhe beneath him. She was enjoying this slow seduction and
must not ruin it by showing impatience. This gentle Eddie Johnson
was a revelation.

His hand cupped
her other breast as his hot lips pulled and slid over her, his
tongue occasionally flicking out to draw a cry from her. It was too
much, too good, she could not keep still. Her hand left his head
and slid down his back, pushing the blanket away as she went,
desperate to feel the hard muscles of his beautiful bottom but she
could not reach. He pulled his head away from her and tugging at
the blankets threw them off the bed so they both lay there on the
white sheet exposed and as naked as the day they were born.

“That's
better!” he laughed and pushed her onto her back so he could survey
her fully. His eyes roamed over her, stopping on her breasts, the
swell of her tummy, the patch of hair between her legs. He placed
his hand gently on her thigh and said in a low voice, “Open your
legs.” She bent her knee and let it flop to one side and he sighed.
Then he bent his head towards her and she almost squirmed with
anticipation. His tongue pressed hot between her folds, lapping her
with slow measured strokes while his hands held her thighs apart.
She could feel herself trembling under his touch, her hands going
to her breasts as if they had a mind of their own. He was humming
against her as he gently stroked and she could feel the pleasure
building inside her and then there was the added stimulus of
watching the muscles in his back flexing and his long legs spread
out in front of her. It was too much; she did not want to come yet.
She wanted to come with him inside her. Grasping his hair, she
pulled him away from her. He looked up at her, his eyebrows
quizzical, his whiskery chin glistening with her juices.

“My turn,” she
said and with surprising ease flipped him onto his back.

He was so tall
he filled the full length of the bed, his feet reaching the end. He
folded his arms behind his head once again, revealing those manly
armpits and she drank in his body as he smiled lazily, the hair on
his chest, the slender hips, and the big cock lying rigid on his
hard belly.  

“Shall I suck
you?” she asked in imitation of what he had said earlier.

“Yes please,”
he said, his cock twitching. “Lick my balls too.”

Charlotte
smiled to herself; the domineering filthy Johnson was still there.
She teased him by hovering with her lips almost touching and
occasionally flicking out her tongue to lick him. His hips thrust
towards her but she would not let him take charge and it was only
when he was mindlessly begging that she properly took him in her
mouth and played with his balls until his grunts became positively
feral, at which point she pulled back and straddling him sank down
onto his cock.

They both cried
out as she took him all the way in and he thrust his hips to get
the deepest possible penetration. Charlotte had forgotten what this
could be like, how two people unhindered by clothing could come
together in this age old dance, flesh against flesh, in an act so
instinctive it required no thought. There was merely the sensation
of him thrusting into her, of his hands gripping her waist, of his
dark eyes burning into her as her breasts bounced and her wetness
surrounded him and they were both thrown over the precipice and
collapsed, chests heaving and hearts thumping.

 Outside the rain had stopped but neither of them noticed or
cared.

Chapter
27

The Earl is
Caught

In which our
naughty regency rake accepts he cannot avoid his responsibilities
forever.

There was a reason that the Earl of Langham
spent so much time at his Uncle's country house rather than his own
much grander pile in Derbyshire, and it was not just its closer
proximity to London or the presence of one delectable governess.
His house in Derbyshire was well appointed, with beautiful grounds
but there was one fixture that he had no desire to see, or indeed
be less than fifty miles from, and that was his Mother, the
formidable Dowager. Lady Catherine Fairburn had been widowed for
five years and had reluctantly seen her husband's title pass to her
only son, but she still ruled the household with an iron fist and
Rafe wisely stayed away, preferring the much more pleasant and
relaxed environs of Hertfordshire.

As his mother hating the crowded city, London
was safe, so Rafe was happy to spend a couple of days there
fulfilling not particularly onerous duties such as visiting his
tailor and reacquainting himself with Henry Barnes's latest
escapades. Henry met him one evening at their club and over a few
glasses of claret entertained him with racy stories of a married
woman he had recently bedded.  Apparently she liked to be tied
up with rope and thrashed. Henry's face grew quite flushed as he
recounted their latest rendezvous during which he had used a cat of
nine tails and she had screamed so loudly when she came that he was
considering gagging her next time. He wanted Rafe's advice on how
to do this, but Rafe had to confess that his experience of such
perversions was not that great. His tastes were more on the
conventional side of the scale. Henry had laughed at this and
pointed out that fucking their manservant was not something done by
all the gentlemen of the Ton.

“
If they had a valet like Johnson, they
might reconsider,” Rafe said wryly.

“
He's back then, is he? Had enough of the
lovely Justine?”

“
Came crawling back with his tail between
his legs,” Rafe lied. 

“And you forgave him?”

“
He's hard to resist,” Rafe confessed.
“
No-one sucks cock like
Johnson, not even Madam Bella's most experienced
whores.”

Henry shifted in his seat.
“
Not my cup of tea, as
you know.”

“
No,” laughed Rafe, “
You prefer beating women until they
scream.”

Henry put his wine glass down on the
table.

“
Speaking of screaming women, how's your
mother?”

Rafe closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He could not believe that Henry would bring her up in a
conversation such as this. His balls had suddenly and painfully
receded into his body.

“
I have successfully avoided her since
Easter,” he boasted, and in sudden suspicious panic, he asked, “Why
do you ask?”

“
No reason ... it is just that Harold
mentioned seeing her in Hyde Park yesterday.”

Rafe froze with horror and gaped at his
friend who was smiling broadly, clearly amused at his own affected
nonchalance.

“
She's in London?”
Rafe stammered.

“So it seems. I wonder why?”

Rafe took a very large gulp of his wine. He
had an idea of why she was here and he had every intention of
getting away from her as soon as he could.

But she called at his townhouse at such a ludicrously early hour of
the morning, he was not even dressed. For a moment he considered
leaving her sitting in the parlor while he made a quick exit down
the servant's stairs and out of the basement door. He could hail a
hansom cab on the street and be on his way to Hertfordshire before
she had finished her cup of tea. But that would be undignified and
cowardly, so he slowly dressed, all the time the knots in his
stomach twisting tighter.

“
You look well,”
he said.

“
You look ... older,”
she said, as she kissed him dryly on the
cheek. “You have wrinkles around your eyes. I suspect you drink too
much.”

Rafe sat down heavily and tiredly regarded
the only woman in the world he could not charm.

“
I won't beat around the bush,”
she said, smoothing out her
skirts. “It is time you were married.”

Rafe just fixed her with his weary,
wrinkly eyes. “Not ‘How are you?’ or ‘Where have you been all
summer?’ or even ‘I've missed you’?”

His mother snorted and waved a dismissive
hand at him. “It is five years since your father died and I have
waited long enough. It is time you were married and provided an
heir.”

“
And do you have someone in mind?” he
asked, knowing full well she did.

“
I most certainly do, and I have come to
London,” and she even shuddered as she said the word ‘London’, “to
introduce her to you.”

“
What?”
he asked looking round in exaggerated panic, “She's here
now?”

“
Don't be ridiculous Rafe,”
she said without a hint of
amusement. “You will come with me this afternoon to visit her and
her mother.”

“
And what if I have an appointment this
afternoon?”

“You will cancel it.”

Lady Lydia Maitland was tall and slender and
rather lovely, so lovely that Rafe was somewhat surprised that he
had never met her before, or indeed ever heard of her. She smiled
at him sweetly and held out a dainty little hand, which he
took.

“
Delighted to meet you,”
he said, his mother's steely eyes boring
into his back.

He sat down on the couch opposite her and
examined her pretty face while the ladies launched into a spirited
conversation about the weather. All day he had been imagining the
trout his mother had dredged up for him, so desperate for him to
spread his seed that no doubt anyone with a title would do. He had
spent the long morning thinking of Charlotte, picturing how she
looked when half naked and spread out for him, her hungry green
eyes desperate for his touch. Then he tried to picture a well-bred
wife, who would no doubt allow him access to her nether regions
once a month and grimace with disgust as he spent inside her.

But looking at Lady Lydia Maitland right now,
he was having no difficulty whatsoever imagining her naked. In
fact, his cock was rapidly showing considerable interest in what
Lady Lydia might be hiding under that virginal white gown, and her
eyes kept flicking sideways at him as if she were wondering about
him. It made him even harder and he quickly tore his eyes away from
her to look at her mother instead. An erection would be most
inconvenient at a time like this.

Later, the ladies declared a desire to go for
a walk so Rafe dutifully accompanied them to the park, hanging back
to allow the older ladies to continue with their gossip and
hopefully give him an opportunity to converse with Lady Lydia, or
rather to be close enough to see if he really did desire her. He
found it almost too hard to believe that his Mother had found him a
girl he would not mind bedding.

When she came to walk beside him he noticed
that she was not as young as he first thought, although her peaches
and cream complexion was radiantly unblemished. Was her skin like
that all over? If so, her bottom must be a thing to behold, he
thought, glancing down at her flimsy skirts and attempting to
discern its shape.

She spoke while he was still attempting to
undress her with his eyes. "You have an appalling reputation, my
Lord."

He quickly looked up to find her regarding
him with a pair of cool blue eyes. He almost blushed.

“
Have I?”
he asked, flashing her one of his most charming
smiles.

“
I am afraid that my mother is so desperate
to wed me off that even you will do.”

His mouth almost fell open in shock. He was
an Earl! And he was the best looking man in the Ton. He had been
told that often enough to consider it a fact. 

“
And my mother has a habit of throwing me
at any wretched spinster within a ten mile radius,” he answered
back after a brief pause in order to regain his senses.

“
Touché!”
she laughed gaily, and all the blood in his brain
immediately rushed to his cock, which rose hard and insistent
causing him to stop walking. Never in his life before had a woman's
laugh caused such a sudden and violent reaction.

“
I am spending the next two weeks at a
shooting party in Derbyshire,” she said, her eyes flicking over
him. “At Kerridge Manor. I think you know Phillip
Kerridge.”